


EliHec February

by LdotRage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Minor Violence, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Teasing, and no excessive heartbreak, but boy do they sure think it is, but there will be no sad endings, idk what the difference is between those three haslkjdhlkjfhs, lots of Embarrassed Hector, some are happy and some are sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-20 20:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LdotRage/pseuds/LdotRage
Summary: A series of Eliwood/Hector drabbles and oneshots written throughout February, approximately every two days, using a few mismatched lists of daily prompts.Day 5: Cuddling -- Eliwood seeks Hector out after a bad dream.Day 6: Affection -- For Eliwood and Hector, it's in the little things.Day 7: Hand-made -- Eliwood wants to make Hector a gift.Day 8: Morning Routine for the Ostia-Pherae family.Day 9: Injury. Eliwood gets hurt on the battlefield.Day 10: Recovery. Continuation of Day 9.





	1. Day 1: First Crush

**Author's Note:**

> Because what does a stupid bitch do when she has too many Feelings and far too much time on her hands?  
> Write a truly stupid number of EliHec oneshots, that's what.  
> Anyway, I can't promise that I'll be able to update consistently once a day (edit: once every two days, haha), but I will be doing all the prompts, hopefully by the end of February, unless something pops up to prevent me from doing so. Since it's gonna be a long challenge, though, the entries will probably all be fairly short.
> 
> Today's prompt is "First Crush", taken from an art challenge called "Febuqueery". No warnings apply. Not much actual EliHec in this one, but I'll try to make up for that tomorrow.

Ever since he’d become Marquess, it seemed like Uther was able to spend less and less time with his brother. Nowadays, he was usually busy, and Hector was usually either stuck with the tutors, training with his axe, or off on one of his spars with Eliwood.

So, when Oswin informed him that Hector had just returned from his latest such sparring session, Uther decided there couldn’t be much harm in dropping by for a quick visit. Surely, Marquess Laus’ pressing concerns about the quality of Lycian food could wait a few minutes more.

When he poked his head into Hector’s quarters, though, he hadn’t expected his usually energetic little brother to be sitting on the edge of his bed, head propped up on one hand, and staring off into the distance with an expression of intense concentration.

Uther raised an eyebrow. “Hector?”

With a surprised “Muh?”, Hector lifted his cheek from his hand and turned towards the door. He had an odd, far-off look in his eyes, even now that he was no longer lost in thought. “Oh. Hey, Uther,” he said after a moment, then immediately turned away and dropped his chin back onto his palm.

Bemused, Uther ducked through the doorway and, just because he could, plopped down on the mattress beside Hector, whose only response was a vaguely irritated grunt. “What are you up to?” Uther asked once it became clear that Hector was going to keep ignoring him.

Hector responded with a noncommittal hum. “Not much,” he admitted, his eyes still fixed on some indistinct point in the distance. “Just... thinking, I guess.”

“A truly rare occurrence,” Uther immediately shot back.

That, at least, earned him a disgruntled glare, and Hector turned towards him again. “Hey! I think plenty!” he protested. “Get off my case! Jeez! First Eliwood, now you―!”

“Oh, so Eliwood pointed it out, too?” A small but genuine smile crossed Uther’s face. “I hate to tell you, Hector, but if people are surprised to see you thinking, then it probably means you could stand to think more oft―”

He paused. Now that they were sitting closer, he could really get a good look at Hector’s face. There were a couple new bruises and scrapes here and there―fairly standard injuries for a friendly sparring match―but, much more interestingly, even though the curtains were drawn and no candles lit, the tinge of pink on his cheeks was still very apparent.

“...You’re blushing.”

Immediately, Hector began to blush harder. “I am  _ not!” _ he cried, physically scooting away from Uther as if that would mask the unmistakable flush on his face.

“You  _ are,” _ Uther said, suddenly filled with childish glee. Before Hector could intercept him, he quickly lunged forward and grabbed both of his cheeks, squishing them with an exaggerated cooing noise. “Aw, my little brother’s embarrassed―”

With an affronted squawk, Hector shoved him away, and Uther generously allowed himself to be shoved. “I’m  _ not _ embarrassed!”

“What do you call this, then?” Uther demanded, pointing a finger dramatically at Hector’s ears, which were nearly crimson at this point. “Honestly, Hector―if the teasing bothers you so much, then―”

“I’m not blushing over  _ that!” _ Hector interrupted, then immediately backpedaled when he realized what he’d said. “I―I mean, I’m not blushing  _ at all―” _

Too late; Uther had already latched on to the admission. “So what  _ are _ you blushing over, then? Did Eliwood wipe the floor with you?” he guessed.

“No!”

“No? Huh. Did you trip over your own feet and lose the match?”

_ “No!” _

“Really? Damn, I was sure I had it right that time―but it  _ was _ something to do with Eliwood, wasn’t it? I mean, it has to be,” Uther reasoned. “What  _ else _ could you be thinking about so intently―?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. Perhaps Hector somehow sensed that he’d been caught, because his eyes widened, too, more out of terror than realization.

“Oh, sweet Elimine,” Uther said. “You have a  _ crush.” _

Hector let out a long, incomprehensible string of syllables.  _ “Out!” _ was the only coherent word he seemed capable of producing, practically tackling Uther off of the bed and shoving him towards the door.

Uther, however, was not so easily deterred. “Who is it?” he demanded, his mind racing as Hector tried to push him through the doorway without much success. “Do I know them? How long have  _ you _ known them? Is this a serious thing, or just an infatuation thing?”

_ “Oh my god, shut up!”  _ Hector practically screamed. He finally managed to push Uther over the threshold, but Uther wedged his arm between the door and the doorframe before it could be slammed shut.

“How long have you liked them?” he continued, pushing against the door with all of his body weight as Hector tried to force it shut. “Do you know if they like you back? Are you going to confess?”

_ “Uther! Stop! Talking!” _ Hector grit out, clenching his teeth in exertion as he tried in vain to push his brother all the way out.

Unfortunately, his own physical prowess didn’t matter much when Uther was older and quite a bit bigger than him. “No way!” Uther said, managing to get his leg through the door as well. “As your older brother, I’m contractually obliged to pester you with prying questions about your first crush!” He paused. “Wait.  _ Is  _ this your first crush?!”

With an undignified noise of frustration, Hector drew back and kicked Uther hard in the shin, forcing him to retreat just enough for the door to nearly close. Still, Uther refused to give in. “What’s their hair color?” He, perhaps stupidly, pushed his face through the dwindling crack in the door. “Come on, what’s the harm in telling me? Just tell me that and I’ll leave you alone, I promise!” he blatantly lied. “Just tell me what color their hair is! Come on, Hector! What color is―?”

_ “Red!” _ Hector practically shrieked, his frustration finally reaching its peak. “His hair is  _ red!  _ Now  _ leave me alone!” _

As Hector’s voice echoed throughout the hallway, both brothers suddenly fell still, stopping their struggle for control of the door. For a solid ten seconds, they just stared at each other with wide eyes, frozen in place. Hector’s face turned an unhealthy color, somewhere between red and purple.

“Wait,” Uther said belatedly, “his?”

“Um,” was Hector’s witty reply.

The gears in Uther’s head were turning very slowly at the moment, but it still didn’t take him very long to piece the puzzle together.

_ “Wait,” _ he said,  **_“ELIWOOD?!”_ **

Hector screamed like a banshee and, with a sudden surge of adrenaline, slammed the door shut.

By the time Uther returned to his senses, he’d already been locked out. Still, he jiggled the doorknob uselessly in a vain attempt to get back in. “Hector, come on!” he called through the door. “Let me in!”

“Don’t ever talk to or look at me ever again,” Hector responded, voice muffled but clearly strained.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” Giving up on the knob, Uther turned to press his ear against the mahogany, raising his voice to make sure Hector could hear him. “Don’t be embarrassed! You two make a good pair!”

_ “Uther, oh my god, shut up!” _

Despite himself, Uther laughed, his head falling back against the door. Despite his surprise, now that he thought about it, Hector having a crush on Eliwood... made a lot of sense. And they really  _ were _ a good pair. Hopefully, this particular crush was requited―as Marquess of Ostia, he had a vested interest in keeping affairs with other territories civil, and, as Hector’s older brother, he had the absolute right to do horrible things to anyone who broke his brother’s heart.

...And, as Hector’s only parental figure of sorts, he currently had one more crucial unfulfilled duty.

“Hector, let me in,” he called, rapping on the door. “I swear to the Seven, I’m not going to tease you, but there’s something I need to tell you. It’s important.”

A long moment passed, but, finally, Hector slowly cracked the door open, staring out at Uther with one wary eye. “...What?”

Uther met his gaze steadily, without faltering. “There are some things that Mother and Father never got a chance to tell you,” he said very solemnly. “Things that the tutors won’t teach you in class.”

He could practically smell the curiosity rolling off of Hector in waves. Cautiously, he opened the door a bit more, taking a step over the threshold. “Yeah?”

Placing both his hands heavily on Hector’s shoulders, Uther looked him dead in the eye, making sure to impart the gravity of the situation through his expression alone. He paused for a moment to let the tension build.

“Hector,” he said seriously, “when two consenting adults love each other very much―”

Uther went to court that evening with a black eye and a huge, self-satisfied grin on his face.


	2. Day 2: Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Fighting. Eliwood and Hector have a quick spar, wonder what it would be like to fight each other legitimately, and then have a little squabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is coming to you one day late, but I plan to get today's out on time.  
> This one is also a bit gayer than the last one, but it also contains the slightest glimmer of drama. But, honestly, given the fact that the prompt was "fighting", I think I'm justified. I mean, think of how many much angstier routes I could have taken with this. Instead, I just gave you more squabbling and flustered Hector. I can't promise the rest of the prompts will all be so fluffy.  
> Anyway, today's prompt was actually supposed to be "flirting", from a Valentine's month OTP prompt list, but I misread it at "fighting", so you get this instead.

When their bimonthly spar finally reached its conclusion, Eliwood was panting heavily, his chest heaving and his face beet red, but the tip of his blunted training rapier was pressed against Hector’s neck.

For a moment, they both froze, trying to catch their breath; then, with a melodramatic groan, Hector slowly lowered his axe. “Damn,” he wheezed, “I really... thought I... had you there.”

“So... did I,” Eliwood admitted between gasps, withdrawing his sword from Hector’s throat and leaning on it like a crutch. “Y-you’ve... gotten faster.”

Hector deflected the compliment with a low grunt, staggering back, discarding his axe entirely, and sitting heavily on the ground. “Still not... as fast as you.”

After only a moment of hesitation, Eliwood sheathed his sword and joined Hector on the ground. “Maybe so,” he said, “but you’re... still stronger. If you’d landed... even one hit, I would’ve been... done for.”

“Still.” With a great sigh, Hector flopped onto his back, his eyes sliding closed. “I’m impressed. You’re... quite the opponent, El.”

Despite himself, Eliwood let out a breathless laugh, slumping over into an unbecoming slouch. “High praise, coming from you,” he muttered, hiding his pleased smile behind his palm. “You’re certainly no weakling yourself... I’m increasingly more and more glad that we’re on the same side.”

“Yeah, same here,” Hector responded, though he made no move to sit back up or open his eyes. A brief, comfortable silence fell between them; then, without moving, Hector added, “For more reasons than one.”

Eliwood looked up from his lap. “What?”

Still, Hector didn’t so much as twitch; he remained sprawled out limply across the ground, his eyes closed. “I’m happy we’re on the same side,” he said after a moment, “and not just because you’re a good fighter. I dunno if I could handle... _not_ being on the same side with you.”

The mere idea gave Eliwood pause. Him and Hector on opposite sides? Fighting against one another, not in a friendly test of skills, but with actual intent to harm? It was enough to make him shiver. “...Yeah,” he muttered. “Me either. Just thinking about it... feels wrong. I mean... if we were fighting each other―truly fighting―then something would have to be amiss, right?”

“Definitely,” Hector agreed. “I think... if we were fighting, then there would have to be some sort of... misunderstanding, or something. ‘Cause, otherwise...” He lay his arm across his face, hiding his eyes from view. “...I couldn’t bring myself to actually hurt you.”

Eliwood tried to picture it. Hector swinging Wolf Beil at him with unbridled ferocity; yelling in that dramatic way he always did on the battlefield; coming at him with every intention of leaving him dead on the ground.

He tried to imagine doing the same to Hector.

“...Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me either.”

A brief, awkward moment passed; then Hector heaved a sigh, rolling onto his side. “Besides,” he said, “it’d be weird if we actually disagreed on something that big. Y’know, since we’re both... good people, and all.”

Eliwood hummed softly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, it _would_ be weird, but... sometimes, good people can still be on the wrong side. And, I mean, we’ve had big disagreements before. You remember those kids that tried to pickpocket me that one time―what was it, four months ago?”

Even though his arm was draped across his face, hiding most of his expression, Hector’s scowl was still evident. “Yeah,” he grumbled, fists clenching. “Little punks.”

Despite himself, Eliwood chuckled. “I see you still hold a grudge. Not that I’m surprised. You were furious at them, even when I told you it was fine. ...We had a big fight over it, remember?”

Hector turned his head away, even though his eyes were already covered. “...Yeah.”

“We may have compromised in the end,” Eliwood continued, “but... I mean, what if it had been about something bigger? What if they had been... I don’t know, murderers instead of pickpockets, and I had still told you to just let them go?”

“You wouldn’t,” Hector shot back without hesitation, removing his arm from his face and turning back towards Elliwood. The look in his eyes was... intense. “You’re nice, not stupid,” he continued, his voice firm. “You wouldn’t let someone like that―someone who truly deserved to be punished―get away scot-free.”

Eliwood couldn’t help but quail slightly under the certainty in Hector’s gaze. “O-okay, but if I _did,_ then you would fight me on it, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” was Hector’s response, so flat and monotone that it was impossible to refute. “Not a chance.”

Eliwood blinked at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” Hector pushed himself off of the ground so that he was face-to-face with Eliwood, his legs crossed lazily beneath him. “I’m pretty sure you’re usually right about that kind of stuff. So, if we didn’t agree, and I couldn’t change your mind, I would just have to live with it.” His face was very serious, but also almost... casual. As if he thought this was blatantly obvious.

“B-but... back then, we fought about those pickpockets for a long time,” Eliwood pointed out, a bit shaken by Hector’s words. “You wanted to hunt them down and teach them a lesson―”

“But I didn’t, did I?” Hector interrupted. “Because you said not to.”

Eliwood spluttered incoherently. “H-Hector, cut it out,” he eventually managed, reaching up to cover his face with both hands. “You’re gonna make me blush.”

He could practically hear the grin start to spread across Hector’s face as the other boy scooted closer. “A little too late for that, I think,” he teased, pressing a finger into Eliwood’s flushed cheek. “C’mon, Eliwood, are you really surprised? Everybody knows you’re the smart one.”

Well, Eliwood couldn’t exactly stop hiding his face now―he didn’t want Hector to see the extent of his blush, nor the huge, dopey grin that was starting to spread across his face. “That doesn’t mean you’re the _dumb_ one,” he insisted, even as the flattery made his ears burn. “I can still be wrong, you know!”

“Obviously,” Hector snorted, coming even closer and ruffling Eliwood’s hair playfully. “But I think I’ll take my chances. I may not be the dumb one, but... well, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m sure as hell not the second-smartest, either.”

That startled a laugh out of Eliwood. “Hector, there are only two of us! If you’re not second-smartest, what are you?”

Hector scoffed. “I’m the strong one, _obviously,”_ he said, feigning an arrogant toss of his head.

Eliwood couldn’t contain a snort. “Oh, yeah?” He peeled his hands off of his face to shoot Hector a mischievous grin. “Well, this _strong one_ just got his butt kicked not five minutes ago.”

With an indignant gasp, Hector clutched his heart dramatically. “The _disrespect!”_ he cried. _“I’ll have you know_ that, in a _real_ fight, you wouldn’t even stand a chance!”

“Oh, _please,”_ Eliwood said with exaggerated disdain. “I could wipe the floor with you, you big lug.”

“Oh?” Hector grinned, mischief sparkling dangerously in his eyes. “Is that so? You could wipe the floor with me? Is that right, Eliwood? Hm?”

Before Eliwood could answer, Hector suddenly leaned forward and draped himself over the smaller man like a blanket, pushing him towards the ground. “Agh!” Eliwood sputtered, trying in vain to remain upright as he was slowly pushed into the dirt. “Hector, get off! You’re all sweaty and gross!”

“No,” Hector replied simply; then, with much more drama, he added, “I can’t! I’m so hurt by what you said... I can’t seem to hold my body upright!”

By this point, Eliwood was sprawled out face-down on the ground, Hector essentially laying across his back. “Likely story!” he laughed, squirming under Hector’s superior bulk. “Budge up, you oaf!”

“I can’t,” Hector repeated with a lugubrious sigh, going completely limp and trapping Eliwood under his dead weight. “My feelings are hurt too badly.”

 _“Feelings_ my foot!”

For a moment more, Eliwood just tried to wriggle out from underneath Hector with very little success. Eventually, he just gave up with an exaggerated groan.

“Ugh, _Hector,_ you smell _so bad,”_ he whined, though he couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face.

“Hmph. You aren’t exactly a bed of roses, either,” Hector replied snootily.

“Then _get off of me!”_

“I _told_ you, I _can’t!”_

They were both laughing, but Eliwood really did reach up to fan the air away from his face. “Hector, I’m _begging_ you, at least put your arms down,” he pleaded between giggles.

In response, Hector shoved his armpit directly into Eliwood’s face.

“AGH! _HECTOR!”_ Eliwood shrieked, flailing wildly and jerking his head away. “Ugh! _Blech!_ I got armpit sweat on my _face! Gah! Cooties! Cooties!”_

Hector was laughing too hard to make any more cracks, but he did generously lower his arms again, saving Eliwood from his pit stench. “You ready to give up yet, little lordling of Pherae?” he teased once he regained his breath.

 _“Never!”_ Eliwood cried defiantly.

“Well, if _that’s_ the way you feel...” Hector slowly began to lift his arm again.

“No! _Please, anything but that!”_

Hector kept his arm raised, but he didn’t shove it into Eliwood’s face again. “Then take back what you said.”

“Okay! _Fine!”_ Eliwood groaned, still clawing at his face as if he could physically tear away the bad smell, even as he giggled helplessly into the dirt. “I take it back! You're not an oaf! Just get off me!”

“So you admit that I’m the strong one?” Hector demanded, even though he was already propping himself up to let Eliwood slide out from under him.

Turning onto his back, Eliwood stared up at Hector, still fighting to restrain his laughter. Once he managed to reign himself in, the grin on his face vanished, and he replaced it with an intense look of contemplation. “Hmm,” he said out loud, gripping his chin thoughtfully as he deliberated.

Then a bright, blithe smile crossed his face. “Nope! I could still wipe the floor with you. Oaf.”

Before Hector could retaliate, though, Eliwood reached up and placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his cheek. “But, if it makes you feel any better,” he said cheekily, “you _are_ the handsome one.”

With that, he slipped out from underneath Hector and pushed himself back onto his feet. “I dunno about you,” he said, cracking his shoulders and bouncing energetically on the balls of his feet, “but I feel completely rejuvenated! I think we should go another round before we part ways. What say you?”

Behind him, Hector slowly fell back onto the ground, burying his face in his hands. “Sh-shut up. Don’t look at me.”

“Aw, is that a no?” Eliwood smirked down at him. “But I thought you were the strong one.”

_“Eliwood, I swear to the gods―”_


	3. Day 3: "You really thought I would just forget about you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: "You really thought I would just forget about you? It's not that easy." Hector doesn't want to be a burden. Eliwood is tired of being avoided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Speaking of not every drabble being happy...  
> Well, this one isn't really that angsty, and there is a happy ending, despite the low word count, so... I will accept no complaints. With that said, I tried to wrap this one up a bit quicker than the last two, because my angst is notorious for expanding into ridiculous word counts, so sorry if the ending seems rushed. I might make a continuation for this one, who knows. //shrug emoji

“Hector.”

Two weeks ago, if you had told Hector that the sound of Eliwood’s voice could fill him with dread, he would’ve laughed in your face. Eliwood's presence being unwelcome? Ludicrous. But, well. He couldn’t exactly argue with the sudden cold feeling in his stomach, nor the instinctual tensing of his shoulders, nor the ever-so-slight tingle of his spine.

Swallowing down his hesitation, he slowly lowered the training weight in his hand and turned to look over his shoulder. Eliwood was standing a few short paces away, hovering between two trees at the edge of the clearing. His face was carefully blank.

“Hey, Eliwood,” Hector said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

For all of his faults, when it really came down to it, Eliwood always cut straight to the chase. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said bluntly; not a question, but a statement, plain and simple.

Hector’s throat was dry. He probably should’ve said something along the lines of, _“Have I? That’s news to me,”_ or maybe, _“If I have been, it certainly wasn’t intentional.”_ But, when it came to Eliwood, he could never bring himself to lie, so what came out of his mouth was just, “It was that obvious, huh?”

For the briefest of moments, Eliwood’s face twisted into something ugly and pained, and it sucker-punched Hector right in the stomach. Then Eliwood composed himself, took a deep breath, and crossed the clearing in a few quick strides.

Hector looked away as Eliwood came to stand behind him, unable to bear the brunt of his sharp gaze. After a moment, Eliwood stepped over the log Hector was sitting on and slowly lowered himself onto the damp bark.

“Why?” he asked once it became clear that Hector wasn’t planning on explaining himself.

No reaction.

Eliwood huffed out an aggravated sigh. “Alright,” he muttered, making himself comfortable at Hector’s side. “We can do it your way, then. Did you have another fight with Lyn?”

No reaction.

“Is it me, specifically, you’re avoiding, or just people in general?”

No reaction.

Eliwood’s anger mounted. “Are you planning on _stopping_ anytime soon, or are you going to keep acting like a child?”

No reaction.

“Hector, please.” The irritation in Eliwood’s voice turned to desperation and concern. “You’re scaring me. I’ve barely seen you around camp in _weeks._ Every time I _do_ see you, you make an excuse and run away as soon as possible. Then I go to your tent, and it looks like it hasn’t been slept in at all.” A warm hand landed on Hector’s shoulder, and he successfully hid his flinch. _“Please,_ Hector, just―tell me what’s wrong.”

Hector swallowed thickly. He knew that Eliwood saw his Adam’s apple bob, because the hand on his shoulder tightened in anticipation. Still, he could summon no words; they simply died halfway up his throat. He opened and closed his mouth helplessly.

Slowly, Eliwood removed his hand from Hector’s shoulder, and, for a single nausea-inducing moment, Hector thought he was going to get up and leave. It would be within his rights to do so. Then Eliwood said, “What did I do?” in a soft, hurt voice, which was so much _worse_ that Hector felt foolish for fearing anything else.

“No,” Hector said sharply, his head snapping around as the sound finally dislodged itself from his throat. “Eliwood, it’s―this has nothing to do with you.”

“Well, what am I _supposed_ to think?” Eliwood demanded, his face so open that Hector felt like he should avert his eyes. “You just start pretending that I don’t even exist, and I’m supposed to―what, _assume_ that I’m not the problem?”

Hector didn’t have an answer for that. “I―” he began, then cut himself off with a frustrated noise. “I wasn’t trying to... I didn’t...”

Eliwood was still staring at him, wide-eyed and worried, and Hector swallowed again. “I didn’t think about that,” he admitted quietly, averting his eyes.

“Then what _were_ you thinking?”

Pressing his lips together, Hector turned to stare off into the distance, though he could still feel Eliwood’s gaze trained on his face. No use trying to hide it anymore. “I was thinking,” he muttered, “that, if you saw me, you would realize something was wrong.”

Several moments passed in tense silence. “And?” Eliwood prompted.

Hector’s fists clenched. _“And_ you have plenty of things to worry about without me being one of them,” he said through gritted teeth. “I thought... with everything else going on, if I just avoided you, then maybe you wouldn’t notice... and then...” Gods, it seemed so stupid now that he was thinking back on it. “I don’t know, I just... I didn’t want to put anything else on your plate.”

Although he’d clearly failed at that.

He half-expected Eliwood to immediately berate him for his stupidity―it really was _so damn obvious_ that this whole “seclude yourself to protect Eliwood” plan had been completely counterproductive from the get-go―but, when he hesitantly glanced back over, Eliwood was just staring at him, morose and silent.

Before Hector could ask, Eliwood suddenly moved forward, wrapping his arms around Hector in a firm, tight embrace.

“You really thought I would just forget about you?” he mumbled into Hector’s side. Chest aching, Hector opened his mouth to respond, but Eliwood cut him off with a single upward glance. “It’s not that easy, Hector,” he said. Somehow, his voice was free of judgement.

Hector looked away. Then, very slowly, he wrapped one arm gingerly around Eliwood’s shoulders.

“I know,” he said.

Eliwood got comfortable, settling into Hector’s side like he was planning on staying there for a while. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked after a moment. “Whatever’s bothering you, I’m here to listen.”

Hector closed his eyes. “...Maybe in a minute,” he reluctantly acquiesced, even though the idea of burdening Eliwood any further was incredibly unappealing. “But... for now, can I just...” He shifted uncertainly, and Eliwood moved with him. “...Can we just... stay like this?”

_Can I just be selfish for a little while longer?_

“Of course,” Eliwood said, and then he pressed his face into Hector’s shirt and didn't say another word.

Hector felt Eliwood’s breaths against his side, felt the familiar, steadying weight pressing against him. Letting out a breath of his own, he finally allowed himself to relax.


	4. Day 4: Holding Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Holding Hands - Hector and Eliwood attend a local festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is stupid and gay but whatever

It started with a sudden wave of people pouring through the marketplace and Hector instinctively grabbing Eliwood’s hand.

“Whoa!” he said, squeezing through the gap between two people and pulling Eliwood along with him. Unfortunately, the incoming crowd was even bigger than it had looked, and he found himself closely surrounded on all sides, being jostled this way and that. If they hadn’t been gripping each other’s hands for dear life, they would’ve lost sight of one another almost immediately.

“Watch it,” Hector found himself blurting out as the people passed by too close on either side, threatening to yank Eliwood’s hand from his grasp. He quickly glanced around for a way out, but he could find none; it was like trying to swim upstream.

Eliwood slipped between what looked like two identical lumberjacks and pressed up close to his back. “Stay close,” Hector shouted over his shoulder, and he prayed that Eliwood could hear him over the ruckus. With that, he squared his shoulders and plowed through the crowd, letting Eliwood follow behind in his wake.

A few dozen dirty looks (and polite  _ ‘Pardon me’s _ from Eliwood) later, he had successfully navigated to a large tree beside the road, and they huddled together behind its trunk to wait for the crowd to dissipate. “That sure came on quick,” Hector remarked, still disgruntled, but Eliwood just laughed.

“It is a very popular festival, Hector,” he said. “Lots of people come from neighboring villages to celebrate here. I’m sure a lot of them move in crowds with the people they know, even without realizing it.”

That made a lot of sense, but Hector still grumbled as the herd finally began to thin. “Could at least watch where they’re going...”

With a cheeky grin, Eliwood elbowed him lightly in the side. “I’m sure they saw you, Hector―hard to miss that big dumb face of yours.” Then, ignoring Hector’s spluttered protests, he pointed at a nearby food stand. “Let’s go try some of that! It looks delicious!”

“Don’t change the subject―” Hector began, but he paused when Eliwood pulled his hand out of Hector’s and weaved through the remaining people towards the food stand in question. Startled, he glanced down at his now-empty hand, which was slightly sweaty where his palm had been pressed against Eliwood’s for too long.

He’d completely forgotten that they were  _ holding hands _ like that―

With a sharp huff, Hector shook his head. It was over now. No sense dwelling. Even if did he kind of want to grab Eliwood’s hand again.

* * *

Maybe an hour later, while they were watching some very talented men spin around lit torches like toys, Eliwood gasped and lunged for Hector’s hand. “Hector, look!” he cried, pointing towards the stage.

Hector froze. He looked down at their joined hands, then up at Eliwood.

The fire cast a flickering golden glow over Eliwood’s gleeful expression, playing off of his red hair in a way that almost made it look like a roaring flame. His eyes were sparkling; his cheeks flushed with excitement; his mouth open in a huge, beaming smile. As the rest of the audience gasped, he leaned forward in anticipation, his eyes widening even further. His grip on Hector’s hand tightened minutely.

When the crowd went wild, so did Eliwood. He thrust both hands into the air, dragging Hector’s hand up with him, and whooped loudly. “Bravo!” he hollered, though he could barely be heard over the sound of clapping hands. After a moment, he turned towards Hector, still grinning. “Did you see that?!” he shouted over the din, practically giddy.

Hector blinked, then numbly turned towards the stage. The performers were bowing theatrically to thunderous applause. Each one was carrying two torches in each hand.

“Uh, no,” he said. “I missed it.”

“What?!  _ Hector!” _ Eliwood chided, but he couldn’t even feign offense; not when he was still smiling like a madman. “How?! I told you when it was about to happen and everything!”

Luckily, he was fairly certain that the heat in his cheeks could be written off as excitement, just like Eliwood’s. “Sorry, I... got distracted.”

Eliwood just laughed in response, then let go of Hector’s hand to join in the applause. This time, Hector was unable to convince himself that he didn’t miss the warm pressure of Eliwood’s fingers around his palm.

* * *

The festival stretched long into the evening, and Hector spent much of that time stealing furtive glances at Eliwood’s hand, trying to work up the courage to make a grab for it.

Clearly, Eliwood didn’t mind holding his hand, so he wasn’t really scared of a negative reaction. Nevertheless, he wanted to wait for the right time to make a move. Acting without thinking was all well and good in day-to-day life, but his usual lack of finesse wouldn’t cut it here―not when it was something this... strange.

The slightest misstep ran the risk of making Eliwood think poorly of him.

Luck wasn’t on his side, though, and the opportunity he was looking for never seemed to come. There were no more sudden stampedes; no more stunning carnival tricks;  _ nothing _ that would necessitate hand-holding.

The sun had set, and the festival was almost over. If he didn’t act soon, he would miss his chance entirely.

As Hector deliberated, Eliwood slowed to a stop at the side of the road, peering into a small garden in front of someone’s house. A strange, conflicted look crossed his face. “Hector, over here,” he called after a moment, beckoning with one hand, and Hector obediently plodded up to his side. “Look at these flowers.” It was a command, not a request, spoken with an audible hint of disdain, and he indicated the garden with a dismissive flick of his hand.

With a contemplative frown, Hector leaned over and inspected the flowerbed. The plants inside were sundry, with various colors, shapes, and sizes, but he couldn’t see anything particularly striking about them. It was neither a particularly beautiful display, nor an eyesore.

“...Hm,” he said, trying not to let on how confused he was.

Apparently, that was all the encouragement Eliwood needed.  _ “Look _ at them!” he snapped, throwing his hands up in outrage. “They’re not organized at  _ all! _ Tulips, peonies, and  _ daffodils, _ all lumped together? _ Seriously?  _ And just look at the  _ colors!” _ He jabbed a finger at the far end of the bed. “Some of the red tulips are here, but then  _ some _ of them are over  _ here,  _ and one is  _ here,  _ and then the orange tulips are  _ here _ with  _ some _ of the orange peonies, but then  _ some _ of the peonies are  _ here!  _ Did they think this through at  _ all?” _

As he fumed, Hector watched the emotions play across his face―the indignation; the contempt; as if this poorly-planned flowerbed had been a personal assault on his sensibilities―and he felt a soft, fond sort of affection well up in his chest. For the briefest of moments, his already-lowered inhibitions abandoned him entirely, and, recklessly, he reached out and seized Eliwood’s hand in his own.

Eliwood paused in the middle of his angry diatribe about the aesthetic insignificance of daffodils. First, he glanced down at their linked hands; then he turned towards Hector. He looked surprised, perhaps a bit confused, but there was no scorn in his voice when he said, “Hector?” with an inquisitive tilt of his head.

Emboldened by this success, Hector impulsively lifted Eliwood’s hand and gave it a brief, discreet kiss.

For a moment, Eliwood just stared at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending. Then a faint blush spread across his face, followed by a small, pleased smile. “Oh,” he said softly, placing his free hand over his heart.

Slowly, Eliwood gripped Hector’s hand, as daintily as you would hold a lady’s. Lifting it up, he bowed down and pressed it against his forehead for a moment. Then, with a tender glance towards Hector, he laced their fingers together and let both their hands fall between them, still comfortably locked together.

They locked eyes for a minute, staring at each other in silence, before Eliwood finally glanced away. Hector coughed into his free hand.

“So,” he said, his voice rough and quiet, “you were saying? ...About the pennies.”

_ “Peonies, _ Hector,” Eliwood corrected, but his smile didn’t falter.


	5. Day 5: Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliwood seeks Hector out after a bad dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late but here it is, boys. This one's probably the gayest yet hashldjhlsfh

When Eliwood jolted awake, he was sweating profusely, his pulse pounding in his neck. Around him, his tent was dark and silent, save for the faint sounds of wind, insects, and animals. There was no discernable reason for his heart to be racing like this.

After a moment, he breathed out heavily and closed his eyes. It had been a while since he last woke like this, his chest heaving with each inhale and his body trembling minutely beneath the covers. Whatever he’d dreamed about, though, it had fled from his mind immediately upon waking.

He didn’t mind.

Hector never asked, even when he was clearly curious.

Slowly, Eliwood peeled himself out of his cot, the sheets clinging to his damp skin like glue. First things first: in the total darkness, he carefully stripped off his sweat-soaked nightshirt and tried to clean himself somewhat. He wouldn’t be venturing to the bathing tent―not at this hour―but he didn’t intend to subject Hector to his stench, either.

Once he’d dried himself off and rubbed some shavings of soap into his armpits, he pulled his cloak over his shoulders, wrapping it tightly around himself. He couldn’t put that nightshirt back on before washing it, which he didn’t have the energy to do now, but it was a chilly night, and wandering around the camp shirtless would be foolish in the first place.

He had to blindly grope around for the tent flap, but, luckily, there was at least enough light to see by outside. The moon was almost full, a bright egg in the sky, and the faint flickering light of the watchmen’s torches cast long shadows through the rows of tents.

Hector’s tent was set up nearby, and no one else was up and about at this time of night. Still, he ducked his head bashfully and hurried through the clearing, gripping his cloak tightly. As far as he knew, no one else was aware of his and Hector’s peculiar sleeping arrangements―they were a relatively recent development, after all―so there were bound to be questions if he was caught.

But he was not caught, and he quickly crossed the gap between his tent and Hector’s, brushed the canvas aside, and stepped in.

Even in sleep, Hector was hard to miss; he lay on his back, half-on and half-off his sleeping pad, limbs sprawled this way and that, with his bedsheets twisted and bunched around his body. Right now, the sheets in question were tangled around his waist and hips like some mix between a loincloth and a toga, leaving most of his torso and legs uncovered, and his nightclothes were equally disheveled.

Despite how uncomfortable and restless his position looked, Eliwood knew how to recognize when Hector was in a deep sleep, and he hesitated for a moment, his shoulder holding the tent flap open. Perhaps it was selfish of him to wake Hector for something like this, even if he  _ had _ volunteered. Perhaps it would be better if he just returned to his tent.

Then Hector stirred, his head jolting as the beginning of a rumbling snore turned into a startled snort, and it was too late to turn back. After a moment, Hector grunted indistinctly, shifted in the sheets, and pried his eyes open.

A month ago―even a week ago―Eliwood might have cringed when Hector blearily looked up at him, exhaustion evident in his slack jaw. He would have fled, letting the tent flap swing shut behind him and guiltily hoping that Hector would think it had just been his imagination.

Eliwood waited for Hector’s eyes to come into focus. “Hey.”

For a few seconds, Hector just stared at him, his face almost completely blank. Even after Eliwood’s presence seemed to actually sink in, he remained sluggish and half-awake, his every movement lethargic. Another ten seconds or so passed as he stretched, his joints cracking, and then he wearily rubbed his eyes.

“Nightmare?” he guessed, his voice low and rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” Eliwood said.

This time, Hector reacted much more quickly. Without actually getting up, he awkwardly disentangled himself from his sheets. There was a lot of rolling around and frustrated grunts, but, finally, he freed himself, yanking the sheets out from underneath his body.

“C’mere,” he said, and Eliwood quickly complied, crossing the tent in two short strides. After a moment of hesitation, he discarded his cloak, letting it land in a pile beside the cot, and then slowly lowered himself to the ground, his knees cracking.

As soon as he was within grabbing range, Hector reached forward and tried to take a handful of his shirt, only to end up scratching uselessly at his bare collarbone. “Hector,” Eliwood said sharply, but he couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

Hector, meanwhile, just stared at his empty hand, confused, as if the concept of not being able to pull Eliwood around by his collar was absolutely incomprehensible to his sleep-muddled brain. “Shirt,” he said after a long moment, sounding truly baffled, and it was enough to startle a genuine smile out of Eliwood.

“It was sweaty,” he explained, lowering himself onto his side. “Trust me, you don’t want me to wear it.”

_ “Shirt,” _ Hector repeated petulantly.

Eliwood stifled a snort. “You’d change your mind if you could smell it right now.”

In response, Hector just made grabby hands in front of Eliwood’s chest, groaning vaguely in irritation.

This time, Eliwood laughed, loud and genuine, before quickly slapping a palm over his mouth. “Y-you don’t have to ma―manhandle me, Hector,” he said through a wave of chuckles. “I can move on my own.”

To prove his point, he scooted towards Hector, edging onto the sleeping pad. As soon as he was close enough, though, Hector just grabbed him under the arms anyway, tugging him close. Eliwood made a dramatic noise of protest, but he didn’t bother resisting as Hector hefted him into his arms, forcing him to practically faceplant into Hector’s chest, and started trying to arrange the sheets around them.

The way Hector held him was casual and perfunctory. It wasn’t an embrace so much as a carry―as if Eliwood was just an object that he needed to take with him, but he also needed to keep his hands free, so he had to tuck Eliwood under his arm while he worked. Hector was always exceedingly tactile, but, when he was half-asleep like this, there was an added layer of nonchalance. Sleepy Hector was handsy in an almost pragmatic way; less like he was touching and more like he was taking stock, or crossing items off a list.  _ Get the sheets untangled; get the cot straightened; grab Eliwood; get the pillow laid out... _

The thoughtless way Hector seemed to reach for him on instinct alone was sometimes a bit irritating, but it was also very flattering and strangely reassuring. It was nice to know that Hector viewed this whole thing―Eliwood seeking him out after a bad dream―as an everyday occurrence; a simple bucket list of steps, rather than a huge hassle. So simple that he didn’t even bother waking up entirely―nor did he stop to realize that he didn’t actually have to pick Eliwood up.

It proved that, when Hector claimed Eliwood wasn’t a bother, he meant it.

That was why, even though it irked him, Eliwood just relaxed, resting his head against Hector’s collar while the Ostian lordling fussed with the blankets. Once he was satisfied, he set Eliwood down very carefully, like a fragile glass ornament, in sharp contrast to the careless way he’d grabbed him. To fit comfortably on the sleeping pad, they had to squeeze in close to each other, and Hector wearily dragged the blankets up over them both.

Once they were both huddled beneath the blankets, a comfortable silence fell between them. Eliwood hesitated for only a moment before turning onto his side and tentatively pressing his back against Hector’s arm.

Almost immediately, Hector rolled over and threw an arm across Eliwood, pulling him into his chest and mumbling incoherently into his hair. Eliwood smiled privately to himself, sinking further into Hector’s arms and closing his eyes.

“Thank you, Hector,” he whispered, placing his hand over Hector’s and squeezing it lightly.

He almost didn’t feel the quick kiss that Hector landed on the back of his head. “Any time,” Hector murmured directly into his ear. “Night, Eliwood.”

“Good night.”


	6. Day 6: Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Affection. For Eliwood and Hector, it's in the little things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only 5 days late yeet  
> this is dumb and gay and stupid just take it

For Eliwood and Hector, the love is in the little things.

Their relationship is an unspoken entity; they never say things like “I love you,” or kiss, or hold hands. It’s questionable whether either of them even knows that their feelings are reciprocated, even though everyone else knows. But to claim that they’re “just friends” would be absolutely preposterous, and not just because any random passerby can see that they’re in love.

It’s in the little things.

It’s in the way all the tension drains out of Hector when Eliwood steps close to him; how his broad shoulders slump just slightly, not enough for anyone else to notice, and his face relaxes, from his brow to his lips, as if simply being in Eliwood’s presence has lifted his entire mood―the way he leans his weight towards Eliwood without really realizing it, always either facing Eliwood or else standing just behind him to watch his back, even though he’s usually loath to leave his own back so exposed.

It’s in the way Eliwood’s expression shifts when he looks up and spots Hector moving towards him, even if they’ve only been apart for mere moments―the way his brow smooths out and his jaw relaxes, in sharp contrast to the way the rest of his body noticeably perks up, shoulders straightening minutely and a big smile spreading across his face; overjoyed at simply the idea of Hector being nearby.

It’s in the way Hector always unconsciously gravitates towards Eliwood, both physically, when Hector spots him in the distance and immediately sets off towards him, and mentally, when they’re apart and Hector’s thoughts inevitably drift to  _ Eliwood. _ Eliwood’s smile; Eliwood’s startled laugh; Eliwood’s intense look of concentration; the way Eliwood holds his rapier; the poise with which he rides a horse; the soft, fond look that he only ever gives to Hector.

It’s in the way Eliwood speaks of Hector when he’s not around; the way he always says Hector’s name around a smile that he can never quite contain, even when he’s talking about how foolish or reckless or rude Hector can be. How, even when he does talk about Hector’s bad qualities, he can never manage to go long without bringing up everything he loves about Hector―his bravery; his compassion; his unwavering resolve; his dedication to his friends and his values; his ability to be a pillar for those around him; his constant forthright transparency and willingness to speak his mind even when most people might demur.

It’s in the way Hector never hesitates when it comes to Eliwood; the way he’s always ready to raise―or drop―his axe in Eliwood’s name; the way he never doubts Eliwood for an instant, no matter what. The way he laughs in the faces of anyone who suggests that Eliwood might be wrong, even when Hector himself disagrees. The way he considers all of Eliwood’s burdens as his own. The way he quietly allows Eliwood―Eliwood, and no one else―to help him bear his burdens, as well.

It’s in the way Eliwood never hesitates to follow Hector’s lead; the way he makes excuses and offers justifications on Hector’s behalf, no matter how intolerable his behavior may be; the way he never falters or seems surprised, no matter what Hector may do. The way he politely but firmly refuses to let anyone badmouth Hector, be it behind his back or right in front of him. The way he always has Hector’s back. The way he implicitly trusts Hector to always have his.

It’s in the way Hector places a hand on Eliwood’s shoulder, or sometimes the small of his back, and gently but insistently steers him toward the mess tent when he hasn’t eaten all day; a soft  _ ‘take care of yourself’. _

It’s in the way Eliwood touches Hector’s arm with just the tips of his fingers whenever he’s about to say something that will get him into trouble, not judgmental or scolding, but just a quick reminder; a soft  _ ‘take care of yourself’. _

It’s in the way Hector always seeks Eliwood out when he’s sad or lonely, sitting half-a-pace away with his back half-turned, not making eye contact because he wants to give Eliwood space, but also offering a listening ear and a steady shoulder; a soft  _ ‘I’m here’. _

It’s in the way Eliwood can always tell when Hector’s frustrated or angry, and he always reaches out physically, gently resting his hand atop Hector’s back or knee or knuckles and applying just enough pressure to alleviate some of the tension there, but not enough that he couldn’t be easily brushed off; a soft  _ ‘I’m here’. _

It’s in the way Hector brushes the hair out of Eliwood’s face, tenderly tucking it behind his ear. It’s in the way he puts an arm around Eliwood and tugs him close, tucking him carefully against his chest. It’s in the way he cradles Eliwood like a precious, fragile thing and relaxes, muscles going slack underneath Eliwood’s steadying weight, breathing slow and deep; blessedly, blessedly still.

_ ‘I love you.’ _

It’s in the way Eliwood discreetly holds onto Hector’s elbow, pressing gently into his side. It’s in the way he lifts Hector’s hand to his face and presses his forehead against Hector’s knuckles, like a knight kissing his lady’s hand. It’s in the way he nestles into Hector’s grip, pressing them together, and lets his head loll against Hector’s chest, lips parting just slightly, eyes slipping shut; blessedly, blessedly calm.

_ ‘I love you, too.’ _


	7. Day 7: Hand-made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Hand-made. Eliwood wants to make something for Hector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is late and gay and dumb, are you seeing a pattern yet

“You know, son,” Elbert said, amusement clear in his voice, “Lords don’t typically have to learn sewing.”

Eliwood made a face that was  _ not _ a pout, though he didn’t look up from the messy stitches he’d left in the small piece of terrycloth in his hands. “I know that, Father,” he said, poking his tongue out of his mouth just slightly as he went in for another stitch. “But it’s a practical skill to have, don’t you think?”

“I… suppose so?” Elbert shot his wife a bemused look.

Eleanora pursed her lips and gently smacked his arm. “Don’t discourage him, dear. There’s nothing wrong with learning a non-standard skill.”

With an exaggerated cringe and yelp, he rubbed his shoulder. “I’m not saying otherwise!” he protested. “It’s not that I don’t approve, I’m just… not quite sure where this came from, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m all for it,” Eleanora said, shooting their son an encouraging smile even though he was completely focused on his work. “It may be considered a ladylike skill, but I think you’re quite the gentleman for learning it anyway.”

Eliwood glanced up just long enough to return her smile, though he was a bit more bashful. “Thanks, Ma.”

Seeing that he was outnumbered, Elbert just sighed and dropped the subject. “As long as you’re doing something productive with your time, I suppose,” he muttered. “Although… are you trying to learn the purely pragmatic type or the… uh, what would you call it… the decorative type?” Eleanora shot him a stern look, and he quickly amended, “Either is fine, of course―I’m just curious.”

Biting his lip, Eliwood frowned down at the knot he’d just bungled. “Well, I mostly want to learn how to mend tears. But I wouldn’t mind learning to embroider, too, I guess. I haven’t really thought about it much… as long as I can fix up Hector’s cloak, I don’t care.”

As he started anew, trying the stitch again further down on his piece of fabric, his parents exchanged looks above him. Elbert raised his eyebrows. Eleanora smiled mysteriously.

“What’s this about a cloak?” she asked, slow and deliberate, as they both looked back down at their distracted son.

“Oh, I accidentally tore up Hector’s in our last sparring match,” he explained as he carefully pulled the needle through. “I told him that I would get it fixed for him, but I don’t want to bother any of the servants, so I thought maybe I could learn to do it myself before our next match. In two months, I should at least be able to do a passable job, right?”

Elbert cleared his throat. “I know you like to take responsibility, but why not just have a tailor fix it? Even if you feel bad for the servants―couldn’t you pay someone in town? That would be a fair trade.”

At that, Eliwood faltered, and the tip of the needle narrowly missed the pad of his thumb. “...That is true,” he admitted after a moment. “But, well… I just thought…” This time, he didn’t just remain hunched over his work―he lowered his head even further, holding the terrycloth close as if to hide his face behind it. “I don’t know. It seemed like a nice gesture. …I guess I just… want to make something for Hector myself.”

Another conspiratorial look passed between his parents, but he missed it entirely. This time, both Eleanora and Elbert were smiling, though hers was more of a grin than anything. She tapped her fingers together rapidly, and he nodded, gesturing for her to go ahead. Her grin widened.

“Sweetie,” she said, her voice borderline saccharine, as she sat down next to him, “if you want to do something considerate for Hector, why don’t you make him a new cloak altogether? I’d be happy to help you, since it’s a bit ambitious for your first project, but it would still be primarily from you.”

Finally, Eliwood looked up, turning to blink at her rapidly. “A whole new one?” he repeated with all the incredulity of someone who’d just been asked to wrestle a fire-breathing dragon. “Isn’t that… well, wouldn’t it be a little… awkward?”

“Not at all!” Elbert swooped in, nudging Eliwood lightly with his elbow. “It’s just a thoughtful gift between friends, isn’t it? And, besides…” A glimmer of mischief leaked into his expression. “...The Day of Devotion is coming up, you know. This would be an excellent time to show your appreciation with a little gift.”

A subtle but visible blush dusted Eliwood’s cheeks a faint pink. “You… you don’t…” Glancing down at his lap, he fiddled nervously with the sloppy stitching in his hands, but a hopeful smile twitched at his lips. “You don’t think it would be… strange? To give Hector something for the Day of Devotion?”

“Of course not,” Eleanora said softly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You two are  _ so close,  _ after all―”

Elbert made hasty slashing motions across his neck― _ abort, abort; you’re laying it on too thick _ ―but it was too late; Eliwood’s blush deepened, and he shot her a frazzled look.

Catching on, Eleanora paused to clear her throat and then took it down a notch. “I mean, you have been such good friends for such a long time,” she revised smoothly. “You’re the closest friends I’ve seen in a long time. The Day of Devotion provides the perfect opportunity to, ah… consolidate your friendship!”

“Yes, yes, absolutely,” Elbert agreed before Eliwood could respond. “I can think of nothing that would make me happier than receiving a thoughtful gift from a friend during the Day of Devotion.” He glanced at his wife knowingly. “Except maybe getting an equally thoughtful gift from my beloved.”

Eleanora shot him a warning look, but, luckily, the hint seemed to fly over Eliwood’s head. He just stared pensively at his terrycloth for a moment, ears still red but otherwise perfectly composed. On either side of him, his parents waited with bated breath.

“...You’re right,” he said eventually, his expression hardening into something firm and resolute. “This is a good opportunity. I’m going to see if I can’t make Hector a cloak completely from scratch.”

In an impressive display of self-control, both husband and wife managed to contain their victorious shouts. “Excellent!” Eleanora said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “I’ll help however I can, honey. Why don’t we start by picking out some fabric?”

“Good idea―thank you, Mother,” Eliwood said, pushing himself onto his feet. “Though, I’ll need to work on my stitching quite a bit before I’m ready to make something completely new.”

“Of course.” Eleanora guided him out the door, a devilish sparkle in her eye. “I have just the practice routine for you…”


	8. Day 8: Morning Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Morning Routine in the Ostia-Pherae household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's got old elihec and i haven't even read it so just fuckin. take it plz

As they got older, the differences between them became progressively more apparent.

For starters, Eliwood only had to shave perhaps once every two days―and, even when he neglected his razor for a while, he couldn’t grow anything thicker than a spotty mustache if he tried. Hector, on the other hand, shaved twice a day―once in the morning and again before bed―and it wasn’t because he just liked having a smooth jaw. It didn’t matter how thoroughly he shaved; by dinnertime, he would have a visible shadow of coarse blue stubble covering the lower half of his face.

Hector wasn’t particularly averse to the idea of growing a beard, but the persistence of his own facial hair irked him to no end. Whenever they both cleaned up together in the washroom, be it in the morning or at night, Eliwood would watch him inspect his face in the mirror, scratch at his freshly-stubbled chin, and scowl. “Oswin says a Marquess has to look ‘clean-cut’ or whatever,” he grumbled every time. “Easy for him to say! He has to shave even less often than  _ you  _ do! Lucky dastard…”

For all that he complained, though, Hector was clearly pleased that his beard wasn’t as scraggly as his brother’s had been―Uther had stuck with a simple goatee for a reason, after all. Eliwood had never seen him with a full beard, and Hector assured him that he was lucky. Apparently, it was quite a sight. Even worse than Elbert’s old mustache, which had been a point of embarrassment for Eliwood since they were children.

(There was a reason that Eliwood kept himself clean-shaven, too, even though Marcus didn’t hound him like Oswin hounded Hector.)

Eventually, Oswin gave up and allowed Hector to cultivate his chin as he saw fit. The change was immediate. Within a week or two, he’d grown a surprisingly thick beard, and, rather than shaving together in the morning, Eliwood would shave while Hector kept his whiskers carefully trimmed.

Of course, this meant that Eliwood was contractually obliged to tease him a minimum of twice per morning―anything from a crack about hedge-trimming to a reminder of the “great beard” Hector saw in his prophetic dreams―but, as much as Hector objected and grumbled, neither of them minded this at all.

Once they were done taking care of their personal hygiene, it was time to rouse the kids. They each took one child, and they alternated every day. It was only fair; after all, neither Roy or Lilina was a particularly difficult kid, but that didn’t mean that neither provided a… unique challenge.

Roy was quick to wake, but he required more attention afterward. He always wanted advice on what clothes to wear; help brushing his hair; answers for whatever zany questions he’d dreamed up over the night―it was a very long process.

Lilina, on the other hand, tended to roll out of bed, clean up, and dress herself much faster. That was assuming, however, that you managed to wake her up, which was easier said than done. Trying to wake Lilina was 40% shouting, 40% violent shaking, and 20% luck. Depending on whether that luck was good or bad, getting Lilina ready for the day could be quick and easy or take twice as long as Roy.

Whatever the case, once both kids were ready to face the day, the family reconvened in the dining hall for breakfast. Hector piled his plate high with meat of every type, whereas Eliwood opted for something lighter―oatmeal, perhaps, or bread. Roy preferred fruit, and Lilina usually snagged her entire meal from Roy and Hector’s plates.

After breakfast, they would all have to go their separate ways. Eliwood and Hector had their duties to attend; Roy and Lilina had their studies. On most days, they would be apart until dinner, or even until bedtime. Sometimes, one or more of them wouldn’t even be able to get away from their work until late into the evening.

That was why they had to savor this time that they had.

Hector would laugh at something Roy said, loud and booming, and ruffle his son’s hair with one large hand. Eliwood would patiently answer all of Roy’s questions, no matter how random they may seem, with nothing but an indulgent, proud smile. Lilina would snatch another piece of meat from her father’s plate while Hector playfully pretended to swat her hands away; by the time she looked back, Eliwood would have sneakily slipped something from Roy’s plate onto hers, offering her a discreet grin and a wink.

If everything went according to plan, even if they couldn’t see each other until tomorrow, they would build up enough memories in the short hours of the morning to last them throughout the entire day.


	9. Day 9: Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: Injury. Eliwood gets hurt on the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, the prompt was "injury". what do you want from me? fluff?  
> there will probably be a second part to this, idk. i mean, i hesitate to call this a cliffhanger when it's just a random drabble in the midst of several other random drabbles. so maybe I'll write more, maybe not? depends on how i'm feeling in two days //shrug emoji

Hector wasn’t normally one for dramatics, at least when it came to the battlefield. When he heard the scream, though, he suddenly understood every elaborate description of war that every pretentious poet had ever written, right down to the way time seemed to slow and the sudden pounding of his heart in his chest.

He was lucky that there were no Black Fang blackguards directly in front of him when he heard it; he would have been a goner if they’d been any closer. He stopped short and frantically whirled around without a single thought spared for them. Faintly, he still heard Oswin snarl “Lord Hector―!” from beside him as he foolishly turned his back on the approaching enemies, but he barely noticed, and he barely cared.

Across the clearing, in the midst of a throng of enemies and allies alike, was Eliwood. He’d fallen to his knees, clutching at a wound that Hector couldn’t see. It seemed as if his pained cry was still echoing in Hector’s ears. Or maybe that was the adrenaline talking.

Either way, he didn’t bother thinking once he’d caught sight of Eliwood kneeling on the ground. Crushing his axe against his chestplate in an awkward, potentially dangerous carry, Hector lowered his head and ran.

_ “Lord Hector!” _ Oswin shouted, but Hector didn’t even flinch. Barrelling across the battlefield with the speed of a diving hawk and the carelessness of a charging bull, he shouldered past a Fang who failed to get out of his way, crashed through a copse of interlocking shrubs, and ran to Eliwood’s side.

He paid minimum attention as Harken, Marcus, Lyn, and Lowen cut down the remaining Fangs scattered around Eliwood. His eyes were fixed on Eliwood, who had collapsed entirely and was now nearly blocked from view as Lucius and Serra crowded over him. Still, when he overtook a Fang who was also running in their direction, he had the sense to sever the bastard’s head from his shoulders without stopping for an instant.

By the time he arrived, there was nothing left for him to do. With the healers attending Eliwood so closely, Hector couldn’t get to him―and, when he tried, Marcus prevented him. “Lord Hector,” he hissed, physically dragging Hector back as he strained to keep charging towards his friend, “you’re only going to make things worse for him if you distract the healers!”

“Shut your mouth!” Hector snarled, thrashing himself free of Marcus’ grip and looking around wildly at the allies scattered about. “What happened―?!”

_“What_ _happened?!_ Lord Eliwood was injured, _that’s_ what happened, and you rushing headfirst into the midst of battle hardly helped!” Harken snapped, starting towards Hector.

Marcus cut between them and pushed the other knight back. “Sir Harken―!”

“That’s rich, coming from  _ you,” _ Hector growled, stepping forward himself. “You were  _ right there,  _ and he  _ still _ got hurt―you were supposed to be protecting him―if he dies―!”

“And you think you’re any better?!” Harken shouldered past Marcus; Marcus hastily inserted himself back in between them. “You little noble  _ brat―!” _

“Harken,  _ please―!” _

“Sir Marcus,” Lucius cut in, loudly enough to be heard over the ruckus, “we need to get him out of here immediately. I can make him stable enough to move, but―”

With a sharp whistle, Marcus called his horse over. “Lowen, take Lucius; I’ll take Lord Eliwood―we will retreat to behind Merlinus’s tent―”

“Yes, sir―”

“We’ll need to go further than  _ that―” _

Hector didn’t say a word. He couldn’t take his eyes off Eliwood, whose own eyes were screwed tightly shut as he clenched his shaking fists in the hem of his bloodstained tunic. Serra and Lucius had pulled back, now, giving Hector an unimpeded view of the nasty wound in Eliwood’s gut. Every few moments, Eliwood would groan again and move his hands inward, as if he was going to clutch at his injured stomach, but he never quite completed the motion.

Could he hear what was going on around him? Or had the pain deafened him? Did he know that he was going to be just fine; that Lucius and Serra were right there, keeping him alive?

Did he know that Hector would personally kill any reaper who came for his soul?

_ ‘Stay alive, Eliwood. Stay alive, or I’ll―I’ll―you don’t wanna know what I’ll do.’ _

All of his focus was on Eliwood, so he wasn’t paying enough attention to follow the thread of the conversation, but, when Harken stepped forward and threw one of Eliwood’s arms over his shoulders, he got the drift. Immediately, Hector took the place at Eliwood’s empty side, helping to lift him carefully onto his feet. No one challenged him for the honor.

With each minute movement, Eliwood made another noise, be it a hitch of his breath or a stifled moan, and Hector shared a brief glance with Harken. Their immediate truce went unspoken. Slowly, they picked Eliwood up, synchronizing their movements and lifting him into Marcus’ saddle as quickly and as smoothly as possible.

Eliwood was aware enough to wrap his arms around Marcus’ midsection when prompted, though he would open neither his eyes nor his mouth. Hector and Harken quickly stuffed his feet into the stirrups, and then, with nary a glance at either of them, Marcus tugged on his mare’s reins and spurred her into action.

Over the horse’s startled whinny and the first scrape of her hooves against the dirt, Hector caught Eliwood’s soft cry of pain, and he bit down hard on his lip rather than scream at Marcus to be careful. Being careful wasn’t important anymore; being fast was the best way to save Eliwood’s life.

Anyway, it didn’t matter; he wasn’t in any position to be scolding Marcus. As soon as the horse had taken off, Harken shook his shoulder, dragging his attention away from Eliwood. “We still have a battle to win,” he said with a hint of reproach in his voice, but then he drew his sword and darted away before Hector could even consider taking offense.

Hector turned to watch him leave, then numbly surveyed his surroundings. Around them, the battle had continued, even as Eliwood’s life lay in jeopardy; without his noticing, all of their troops had fallen back a bit, tightening around them in a protective semicircle. He could spy Pent and Louise mowing down the wyvern riders that tried to fly over the front lines and attack them while they were still vulnerable; Florina was darting around the perimeter and fending off anyone who tried to slip through the cracks.

Eliwood was hurt, and the world kept on turning.

When Lyn’s hand fell onto his shoulder, he felt as if he’d suddenly been doused in ice water; snapped back into reality. The roaring cacophony of indistinguishable noises sharpened, turning back into the more familiar chaotic sound of battle. Rather than just staring blankly at the Fangs and acknowledging that they  _ existed, _ Hector was able to briefly take stock of the situation: the Fang’s wyvern brigade were nearly dead, as were their horsemen, and mostly only footsoldiers and a few ballisticians remained.

Hector turned to face Lyn, and their eyes met. For the briefest of moments, something hot and angry and helpless passed through him―she was with Eliwood when he was injured; she was supposed to protect him, but she’d failed―and then she shook him once and said, “Hector.”

Once she was sure she had his attention, she pointedly glanced across the battlefield. He followed her gaze to the enemy commander, who was still surrounded by a group of nasty-looking mercenaries. All together like that, the group looked nearly untouchable.

When Hector looked back at Lyn, she was already staring at him intently. She didn’t say a word.

She didn’t need to. The anger; the frustration; the helpless fury welling up inside of Hector―all of it turned into cold, steely determination. He nodded. She nodded back.

Both drew their weapons and charged towards the enemy commander, differences forgotten in the face of a common goal.

_ Protect Eliwood. _


	10. Day 10: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Recovery. Continuation of Day 9 (Injury).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there, a continuation. it's also WAY LONGER THAN IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE, I made myself a soft 1500 word limit and a hard 2000 word limit and this one breaks both of those limits hsdjkhdfsjkf  
> so that's why it's a day late, sorry :/

When Eliwood came back to his senses, all he knew was that his side  _ hurt. _

He didn’t drift back into consciousness, nor did he suddenly jolt awake; he had to claw his way out of sleep inch by inch. His entire body felt heavier than steel, and his head felt like an overstuffed pillow about to burst―and, with each successive step towards wakefulness, his abdomen hurt more and more.

It was tempting to simply let himself fall back into numbness, if only to escape the intense burning sensation that had engulfed his midsection, but Eliwood was confused, disoriented, and a little bit scared―and he knew, on some level, that he would have to open his eyes if he wanted to find out what was going on.

It was easier said than done. Even arranging a single coherent thought seemed like a monumental task; he couldn’t focus for more than a brief moment, much less convince his body to obey him. The most he could do was scratch at the thick layer of moss that seemed to have encased the inside of his skull, his fingers twitching but the rest of his body inert.

Where was he?

What was going on?

Why couldn’t he… move…?

Finally, one of his brain’s jumbled orders registered with the rest of his body, and he succeeded in shifting his stiff shoulders just slightly. He immediately wished he hadn’t. A sudden, stabbing pain lanced up his side from his hips to his chest, and Eliwood gasped, sharp and shallow, the breath catching halfway down his throat.

The pain was abrupt enough to startle him into clarity, and his eyes snapped open without his volition, the rest of his body going very still. Above him, the faded white of dyed canvas swam into view. A tent? Eliwood tried to sit up, which was a horrible idea that sent another wave of pain crashing over him. He squeezed his eyes shut and fell back onto the cot beneath him.

The medical tent.

Slowly, Eliwood curled his hands into fists. That, at least, he could do without aggravating the screaming wound on his side. He took a deep, only slightly shaky breath. Okay. This was the medical tent, and he was obviously injured; he didn’t remember what had happened, but that was okay. Clearly, it had worked itself out.

All he could do now was try to take stock and figure out what had happened while he was unconscious. Hopefully, he hadn’t been out for too long.

After a few more steadying breaths, Eliwood carefully peeled his eyes open again, staring blearily up at the tent above. The room was dimly lit―it was either just past dawn or just before dusk. He couldn’t hear or see anyone else nearby (to be fair, though, his vision was still blurry and his ears still ringing).

The pain in his midsection had receded somewhat when he stopped moving, though it still lingered, branded hot and dull across his left side. A burn? No, it wasn’t that large―this was more of a localized injury, even if the pain was quick to spread. Perhaps a stab wound of some sort? Or perhaps he’d been struck by a bolt of Thunder?

Blinking the last of the gunk from his eyes, Eliwood tentatively raised one arm, taking great care not to jostle his wound again. Thin, rough sheets had been draped across his body, and he slowly peeled them back, exposing his chest.

Then, after a moment of hesitation, he lifted his head and shoulders just enough to look down at himself.

His side stung fiercely when his abdominal muscles tensed, and his whole body began to shake as soon as he moved, but he managed to get a good look at the wound on his side. It was wrapped in bandages that looked completely fresh, without a single trace of blood, but he could see its silhouette through the cloth: a dark, ugly blotch just above his left hip.

A stab wound it was, he supposed. Judging by the pain, which mostly took the form of a blistering heat below his skin, sinking deep into his stomach, he would say that it had been healed extensively by a cleric of some sort. Terrible injuries healed by magic staves tended to feel like this―like the flesh had been mended, but everything inside was raw and flooded.

When you stitched vital organs back together that quickly, you tended to end up with blood where it didn’t belong. Really, he was lucky that everything else seemed to be in order internally―if their healers weren’t so competent, he could’ve ended up in far worse shape.

Nevertheless, he could only stay up for a minute before he collapsed back onto the cot, trembling and gasping for breath. All of the muscles around his stomach either burned terribly or felt like cooked noodles pulled taut like instrument strings. Eliwood closed his eyes again, his chest heaving.

Okay. So he wouldn’t be on his feet anytime soon.

A quick prod with his fingertips found the bandages still dry, so at least he hadn’t reopened his wound.

Once he’d regained his breath, he opened his eyes again and glanced around the room. Luckily, his cot seemed to be the only one occupied. Lucius, Serra, and Priscilla were nowhere in sight, either. He did see one familiar face, though, and he smiled wearily despite himself.

Hector was slumped over the edge of his cot, his head buried in his crossed arms, which couldn’t have been very comfortable, since he was still in full armor. It was hard to tell which would hurt more when he woke―his neck, his back, or the parts of his face that were pressed against the ridges of his vambraces.

With a soft chuckle, Eliwood leaned forward to shake Hector awake.

It was a poorly-thought-out plan. Almost immediately, the attempted motion pulled at his injury, and he faltered, wheezing around the pain. Then he instinctively grabbed at the sheets to steady himself, which stretched his wound into an agonizing shape, and Eliwood let out a harsh, choked cry, his fist slamming against the edge of the cot.

Hector jolted awake, his head shooting up so fast that he nearly tumbled onto the ground. “Wh―Eliwood?!” he slurred, swiping inelegantly at his eyes. “Wha’s wrong?!”

For a moment, Eliwood was in too much pain to answer. When he opened his mouth to try, all that came out was a shuddering gasp. His side burned like hellfire, and he knew that he needed to lay back down in order to quell the pain, but it hurt too much to even consider moving. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and pant frantically for breath.

Luckily, before he could tear his wound all the way back open, Hector’s hands clamped around his shoulder and waist, picking him up, turning him over, and laying him down on his back, all in one quick, decisive motion. The impact jarred Eliwood’s side a bit more, but this position was  _ so _ much better, and he let out all of his breath in a long, shaky sigh.

It took several moments for the pain to recede even slightly. Once he was able to move his arms again, he gingerly prodded the bandages and found them slightly damp. So he had reopened the wound somewhat, but at least it wasn’t bleeding too profusely. Small blessings, he supposed.

A minute or so later, Eliwood slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the mist of tears that hadn’t quite made it past his lashes. Hector was hovering at the foot of the cot, watching him compose himself with worry evident in his expression.

Suddenly, Eliwood felt very foolish. “I’m okay,” he croaked, glancing down at his feet. Instinctively, he shifted under the sheets, trying to alleviate the ache in his shoulders, only to wince and hiss in pain when he aggravated his injury once again.

“Take it easy,” Hector said quickly, darting around the side of the cot and placing a gentle hand on Eliwood’s shoulder. “I’ll get you some water. Can you sit up on your own?”

Eliwood’s face burned. “Y-yes,” he said quietly, carefully pushing himself up onto his elbows.

Mercifully, Hector didn’t point out how obvious it was that he couldn’t quite move around on his own with any efficiency. He just busied himself with pouring a glass of water from a nearby pitcher, averting his eyes while Eliwood painstakingly propped himself up onto the pillows.

Once he was situated, Hector immediately lifted the glass to his lips, and Eliwood didn’t have much choice but gulp the water down. “We should change your bandages,” Hector said as soon as the glass was empty, setting it aside and whisking some bandages out of thin air.

The damp bandages around Eliwood’s side were unfastened before he could protest, and Hector carefully peeled them off. Eliwood wasn’t sure they needed to be changed only a minute or two after he’d bled on them, but it was too late to say that now, so he didn’t say a word, and Hector worked in silence.

As he bent over to redress the wound, though, Eliwood caught a flash of white beneath his collar.

“Hector,” he said immediately, an irrational spike of fear making his pulse leap, “what’s that?” Hector paused in his fussing, glancing up at him with wide eyes, and Eliwood took the opportunity to stretch his arm forward as far as he could without straining his side, brushing his fingers against the small patch of white fabric visible beneath Hector’s armor and cape.

A long silence passed between them; then Hector heaved a sigh. “I guess you’ll hear about it eventually, anyway,” he muttered under his breath. Then, at a slightly higher volume: “Just… let me finish with these bandages first.”

Eliwood frowned, but he obediently withdrew his hand and allowed Hector to press a square of folded gauze against his side, carefully binding it in place tightly enough to stop any more blood flow, but not tightly enough to hurt. Once the bandages were fastened back into place, he discarded the old wrappings and sat down heavily beside Eliwood’s cot, rubbing his forehead in anticipation.

“…We were the only ones who got injured,” he said eventually, not lifting his head from his hands. “Everyone else was completely fine.”

With a contemplative frown, Eliwood slowly pulled the sheets back up over his bare chest. “…Good,” he said once it became obvious that Hector was waiting for a response.

To his credit, Hector didn’t have to be prodded any further. “I got clipped by some ass with an armor-slaying sword,” he explained, though he wouldn’t meet Eliwood’s eyes. “It was just a graze, really. I kept on fighting without any issues. Only reason it’s bandaged up is because the clerics were too busy patching you up to worry about a little flesh wound.”

Eliwood had no good reason to feel as if he’d been punched in the gut by that statement, but he evidently couldn’t keep the horror off of his face, because Hector scrambled to reassure him. “It’s not a big deal―even without magic, I’ll be back to 100% way before you. Don’t be―it’s nothing to feel guilty over.”

That was a blatant lie, but Eliwood chose not to call him on it. “May I see?” he asked instead, voice very soft.

Without hesitation, Hector began to strip off his top layers, unhooking his cloak from around his shoulders and starting to undo the pieces of his armor as well. Once he was down to his tunic, he yanked the collar aside, showing Eliwood the wound in question, which was barely visible through the bandages wrapped around his shoulder and collarbone. His bandages seemed freshly changed as well―either that or his wound had simply stopped bleeding long ago―and it really didn’t look like a very serious injury.

Still, Eliwood frowned, reaching out to brush his fingertips along the hidden injury. An armor-slaying sword―why had he approached an enemy with an armor-slaying sword? Hector was reckless sometimes, but he wasn’t  _ stupid; _ certainly not foolish or short-sighted enough to knowingly face an enemy wielding a sword specifically designed to hurt heavily-armored fighters like him.

Eliwood could remember a little more, now―being surrounded by enemies mounted on horseback, Marcus and Lowen at his back, Lyn and Harken at his sides; the sudden shock of having three lances hurtling towards his body at once; dodging one while Lyn knocked another aside with her blade; watching in numb horror as he was cleanly skewered by the third; screaming and falling to his knees; Marcus whisking him away to be tended to―

And, crucially, when he went down, Hector was still on his feet.

“Hector,” Eliwood said softly, fighting tooth and nail to keep any trace of judgment out of his tone, “what happened? After I…?”

Hector stared at the wall behind Eliwood’s head. Slowly, he tugged his collar back up over the bandages.

“…He’ll find out either way,” he said after a moment, so quietly that Eliwood wasn’t sure that he was meant to hear it. He cleared his throat. “After you went down, Lyn and I… charged the enemy commander by ourselves.”

Despite the fact that Hector was sitting right in front of him, alive and nearly unscathed, Eliwood could swear that his life flashed before his eyes. “What?!” he demanded, trying to push himself up to get a better look at Hector. “Why?! Are you two― _ agh!” _

“We’re fine, we’re fine!” Hector said hastily, grabbing Eliwood’s shoulders and gently but insistently pushing him back down; he couldn’t exactly put up much of a fight. “Don’t try to get up. You’re still hurt.”

Eliwood sunk back into the mattress because he had no other choice, but he didn’t look away from Hector for a moment. “Why―?” He blinked rapidly, surprised to find frustrated tears threatening to well up. “Why would you…?”

Once again, Hector looked away, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “You know why,” he said, sounding very… tired. “Look, if you’re gonna yell at me, go ahead, but I’m not apologizing. I’m… not sorry.”

Another painfully long moment of dead silence fell between them. Eliwood just stared up at Hector, who was visibly bracing himself for a lecture, his arms firmly crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. He was tapping his foot impatiently underneath the cot as if Eliwood was already lecturing him.

Mostly, though, Hector just looked… tired.

Slowly, Eliwood reached out and grabbed Hector’s hand, snapping him back into reality. “Hector,” he said softly, tugging on his arm. “Come here.”

The look Hector shot him was half confused and half wary. “I’m already here,” he said gruffly.

“Not what I meant.” Eliwood tugged harder. “Get down here.”

It took a few moments, but, eventually, Hector stiffly lowered himself down onto the edge of the cot, which creaked quietly beneath his weight. Eliwood kept pulling until Hector bent over low enough for him to let go of Hector’s hand and stroke the back of his head instead, running his fingers through Hector’s greasy, honestly kind of disgusting hair.

Hector shot him a frazzled look which Eliwood thought was rather uncalled-for, given the circumstances. “Did you honestly think I would be mad?” he whispered. “...That I  _ could _ be mad?”

Again, Hector looked away. “...It would be within your rights.”

Eliwood huffed out a laugh. “Hector, I’m not concerned about my  _ rights.  _ I’m more concerned about whether or not my lover is okay.”

Hector froze solid from head to toe, but Eliwood didn’t mind. He just slowly guided Hector’s head down until he could press their foreheads together with a quiet  _ thunk. _

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” he whispered, letting his eyes slide shut. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

This time, the silence lasted for only a moment. Then Hector shifted closer, their noses bumping together briefly as he leaned into the embrace.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”


End file.
